


When All Is Despair You Are There at My Side

by bertie456 (bertee)



Series: Bones: You're Lovely to Me [11]
Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-01
Updated: 2008-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:17:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertee/pseuds/bertie456





	When All Is Despair You Are There at My Side

Temperance Brennan awoke to find she couldn't breathe.

Jerked roughly from her slumber by a sudden panic, her eyes flew open as she felt her lungs burn with the unexpected lack of oxygen.

However, this panic was only momentary and vanished as soon as she opened her mouth, taking in a deep breath gratefully and mentally chastising herself _, You have a blocked nose. Of course you can't breathe when you shut your mouth._ _Genius._

Checking the clock on her bedside table and deciding that she was not ready to deal with inner sarcasm at 5.37am, she rolled over, snuggling under the warm duvet and enjoying the feel of the cool side of the pillow against her flushed cheek. Closing her eyes again, she let her body relax and couldn't stop a contented smile from playing on her chapped lips at the prospect of drifting back into a very pleasant dream involving ice cream, a sturdy hammock and a certain FBI agent with a very talented tongue.

Unfortunately, before the tub of Chunky Monkey could be put to proper use, the pounding in her head started up with all the enthusiasm of a child who'd stumbled upon an empty biscuit tin and a spoon, and Brennan groaned in frustration as banana-flavored dream-Booth was chased away by her headache. Miserable, she pulled the covers over her head, hoping that the soft material would stop the dull pain spreading from her temples.

Unsurprisingly, it didn't.

 _Did you really think that would work?_ her scientific mind mocked. _If duvets could cure the flu, you'd think someone would have noticed by now. There would definitely have been research done if a large feather-filled sack showed any hint of medicinal properties._

Telling her mind to shush for once, Temperance tucked the duvet back down under her arms as she rolled onto her back with a sigh. This movement was the equivalent of putting an over-zealous tap dancer in a spin-dryer and Brennan whimpered to herself as the hammering in her skull intensified, rubbing her temples in a futile attempt to subdue what was becoming the mother of all headaches.

 _Advil... You want Advil... Lovely, shiny Advil..._

Deciding that she did indeed want some lovely, shiny Advil, Brennan moved to roll out of bed. Ignoring the indignant screams of protests from her sleepy and aching limbs, she swung her legs out from under the covers and felt her bare feet land hard on the rough carpet by the bed. Barely opening her eyes, she dragged herself to her feet and stumbled out of the bedroom, heading to the kitchen cabinet like an Advil-seeking missile, albeit a slow, wobbly missile.

Weaving her way around the worktop, she felt a jolt pass through her when her previously warm feet encountered the cold tile floor of the kitchen. Goosebumps appeared on her arms and legs as her sluggish senses finally responded to the cool October temperature, and she resisted the urge to propel herself, cannon-like, back into the bedroom.

In the end, she did reach the cabinet and what was, for the moment, her equivalent of the Holy Grail. Still half-asleep, the child-proof lid proved to be difficult, but after a few muttered curse words and the threat of a hammer, the cap eventually yielded to her eager fingers. Holding back a victory dance, partly through shame and partly through desire to return to bed, Brennan palmed three tablets before wandering to the fridge to find some water. Normally she could easily dry-swallow pills, but her throat was currently an uncomfortable cross between sandpaper and sticky tape, and she didn't want to be remembered as the forensic anthropologist who choked to death on Advil. While wearing an oversized tee with a picture of Sue, the T-Rex skeleton, on it. And lime green panties.

Irrationally wondering what color panties she _would_ wish to die in, she pulled open the fridge door and was immediately startled by the brightness of the interior. Grabbing a bottle of water from the shelf, she hurriedly closed the fridge, hissing at its offensive light and coolness, and prompting a derisive snort as her mind finally caught up to her body. _You just hissed at your fridge._ _Hissed._ _At a fridge._ _How is that remotely logical? It's a fridge._ _Fridge_

Temperance gladly ignored logic, for possibly the first time in her life, and swallowed the tablets before trudging back to her bedroom, sniffling pathetically as she went. She was all set to clamber back into her squishy duvet paradise when nature called. Shortly followed by Booth.

Her sore throat managed to produce an irritated and disturbingly primal growl at the situation, and she snatched her ringing cordless phone before heading to the bathroom, deciding she could deal with both calls at once. Squinting at the bright light of the bathroom, she picked up the phone, speaking with a deep and croaky voice, "Brennan."

Booth's chuckle drifted down the phone line and she closed her eyes in embarrassment as he said teasingly, "You sure? Because that sounded a hell of a lot like Barry White."

Recalling what limited knowledge she had of Mr White, Temperance's eyes narrowed in indignation as one particular phrase sprung to mind. "I am not a walrus, Booth," she protested, her pained throat making her sound not entirely dissimilar to said sea-dwelling mammal.

"Walrus of love, Bones," Booth corrected cheerfully, as though that negated the "walrus" aspect of the description.

Her only reply was another growl.

"Good morning to you too," he continued, and she could almost hear his amused grin through the phone line. "Listen, as much as I hate to drag you from your peaceful walrus slumber, we've got a body."

"Can't it wait till morning?" Brennan replied, her voice fluctuating between low and gravelly, and high and squeaky.

"No can do, Bones. The crime scene guys say it's been doused with something..." He checked his notes and quoted skeptically, "'Strong and sizzle-y.' I think the sizzle-y is from the guy who touched the remains and burned off half the skin on his hand. Anyway, whatever it is looks to be eating up the body pretty fast, so we need to get down there asap. Pick you up at 6?"

 _Doused._ _Sizzle._ _Skin._ _Eating._ _Asap_ _. See, I'm following,_ she thought with satisfaction, before her mind processed the last of Booth's comments. _6._ _Meh_

"Fine," she conceded, sounding a lot more sulky that she would've liked. "I'll see you at 6."

"Great," he shot back, and Temperance was annoyed to hear that he seemed like he meant it. "See you in fifteen."

With that, he hung up, leaving her reeling at the unexpected reality. _Fifteen?_ _Fifteen?_ _I'm in my pyjamas, I've not showered, washed, dressed or put on makeup, and I look like..._ Curious as to what she actually did look like, she stood and moved over in front of the mirror to wash her hands. Her heart sank at the sight. _I look like a clown who lost a fight with a truck._ _A truck carrying many, many hedges._ _Which I was then dragged through backwards._

Sniffling again, she decided that damage control was the way to go. Foregoing the shower, she splashed cold water on her face, and barely suppressed a shriek as the cool drops collided with her fevered forehead and warm cheeks.

 _Hmm, clothes or makeup?_ she pondered briefly. Sadly, as happy as she would've been to meet Booth while wearing only mascara, reality won out and she shuffled back into her bedroom to find something to wear to the scene. Swapping her panties for a pair that didn't look like they belonged to Kermit the Frog, she pulled off her baggy grey shirt and tossed it on her bed, too tired and sick to bother folding it up as usual. She instantly regretted removing the tee as the chilly air in her apartment now viciously attacked her newly-bared back and chest, leaving her shivering as she hurried to put a bra and tank top on.

Yawning, Brennan then rummaged in her drawers for pants that would be suitable to go underneath her blue Jeffersonian protective suit. It was with a combination of satisfaction and disgust that she found her one remaining clean pair of jogging bottoms, since while they weren't dirty, they also wouldn't have looked out of place on any member of the cast of 'Fame!'. The green light by her bed blinked 5.53am pointedly and so Temperance pulled on the bright blue, skintight pants with a shudder, wishing that the racing stripes down the side of each leg weren't such a custard-like yellow.

Decked in her unquestionably '80s attire, she was glad of the less embarrassing overlayer of the steel blue jumpsuit. However, putting on the aforementioned jumpsuit when her head was still throbbing and her sinuses felt like they'd been filled with cotton wool was a task akin to playing jump-rope blindfolded; it was risky, unstable and highly likely to result in her landing face down on the floor. Sitting on the bed, she carefully inserted herself into the welcoming blue material, that seemed remarkably duvet-esque to her bed-craving mind, and wedged her feet into her gumboots before spacewalking to the bathroom to see what, if anything, could be done about her face.

 _Lost cause_ was the first helpful thought that sprang to mind as she stared at herself in the mirror. She'd pulled her mussed and straggly hair back into a bun, but that, coupled with the pallor of her complexion, gave her the appearance of a mime artist. She sighed as she looked at her reddened nose. _A mime artist impersonating Rudolph._

Since a reindeer is generally not accepted as a style guru, Brennan then set about coating her nose in thick layers of concealer and foundation and was pleased to see that the camouflage was at least partly effective. _No more clown jokes this time,_ she thought with satisfaction, recalling the day spent with Booth during her last bout of the flu, during which he'd affectionately nicknamed her 'Krusty.' After hours mulling over the possible significance of bread comparisons, she'd finally Googled the name and was not amused to find that her partner had been calling her the name of a cartoon clown in the presence of numerous cops, lab techs and suspects. Okay, so she didn't actually care what they all thought of her, but it was the principle that was important.

Content that she would be able to avoid derogatory clown comments, Temperance quickly brushed her teeth, again forgetting to open her mouth to breathe and inadvertently swallowing some toothpaste as she then gasped for air. Finally dressed, washed and mostly ready to face the world, she grabbed her kit, sniffling pitifully as she headed out of the apartment at 5.59am precisely, closing the door quietly so as not to wake the fortunate people whose partner didn't drag them out to a dead body before sunrise.

Her misery only seemed to amplify as she trekked slowly down the stairs, feeling as though her temperature went up and down with each step and barely able to hear anything through her blocked ears. Pushing a few stray wisps of hair out of her face, Brennan walked to the door to the complex, her breathing more like that of someone who'd just run a marathon up the side of Everest rather than someone who'd walked down four short flights of stairs.

As she met the bracing October air, she folded her arms across her chest, hearing the rustle of the waterproof material as she hurried over to Booth's waiting SUV, parked, as ever, across the gate to the complex, where there was possibly the most well-signed and clearly marked "No Parking" zone in the history of mankind. Blowing her nose noisily, Brennan opened the trunk, slinging her kit in before slamming it shut with unnecessary force, as though compensating in advance for the teasing she would have to endure from the vehicle's owner.

Preparing herself for the worst, she walked round to the passenger side door and clambered in with a less than cheerful "Good morning."

Booth looked over at her with raised eyebrows and she just glowered back, silently daring him, gun or no gun, to antagonise an emotional, tired and unhappy woman trained in three types of martial art. The effect of her menacing stare was somewhat ruined when Hurricane Bones decided to make a break for freedom, resulting in a loud, embarrassing, and frankly unexpected sneeze shattering the early morning silence in the SUV, and quite possibly the whole of DC.

Sighing in defeat, Brennan dropped her eyes to the dashboard in front of her, waiting, much like the proverbial Damocles, for the sword to fall and the mocking to begin.

However, her gaze fell on the black dash, she saw a large box of unopened tissues sitting in front of her. Scanning the floor next to her feet, she found a warm, and definitely feminine, scarf, while two hot cups of coffee and a full container of Advil sat waiting in the center console. She looked up at her partner in surprise, her first real smile of the day on her lips. Booth glanced back at her as he started the car, but made no move to explain the newly-acquired contents of his car.

Unsure of what to say, Brennan felt herself relax slightly as they pulled out of the gateway, finally venturing, "I thought you'd say something about..."

"The jumbo sneeze?" he supplied with a smile. "Bless you."

Temperance's smile widened and she felt a small pang of guilt of thinking the worst of her partner, when he'd actually been concerned with her well-being.

This guilt rapidly evaporated when Booth finished with a grin, "Sneezy."

Rolling her eyes in annoyance, she pulled a tissue out of the box in front of her and gratefully took a sip of coffee as her ever-thoughtful partner hummed softly under his breath,

"Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to work we go..."


End file.
